Classic Poetry

Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-Of all to whom thine absence is the night-The blotting utterly from out high heavenThe sacred sun- of all who, weeping, bless theeHourly for hope- for life- ah! above all,For the resurrection of deep-buried faithIn Truth- in Virtue- in Humanity-Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bedLying down to die, have suddenly arisenAt thy soft-murmured words, "Let there be light!"At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilledIn the seraphic glancing of thine eyes-Of all who owe thee most- whose gratitudeNearest resembles worship- oh, rememberThe truest- the most fervently devoted,And think that these weak lines are written by him-By him who, as he pens them, thrills to thinkHis spirit is communing with an angel's.

If you enjoyed this famous poem, rate it! Currently Rated: 2.00

About the Author
Edgar Allen Poe (1809-1849) was born in Boston, Massachusetts, to parents who were itinerant actors. His father David Poe Jr. died probably in 1810. Elizabeth Hopkins Poe died in 1811, leaving three children. Edgar was taken into the home of a Richmond merchant John Allan. The remaining children were cared for by others. Poe's brother William died young and sister Rosalie become later insane... Read Edgar Allen Poe's Full Biography